


I'll do what's right

by dragon_rider



Category: The Voice (US) RPF, The Voice RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, M/M, Pining, Unrequited Love, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-07 05:51:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1887339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragon_rider/pseuds/dragon_rider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s an open book with a sob story to tell that’s not even worth the pause for reading it properly, that’s just good for skimming through and putting back down because the ending sucks and the beginning makes no sense and there’s nothing in the middle but misery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【翻译】I'll do what's right](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1972173) by [dawningli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawningli/pseuds/dawningli)



> So I listened to this [mix](http://8tracks.com/staggstreet/but-if-you-loved-me) on 8tracks and it broke my heart in pieces and this is how I dealt with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written for this prompt, "Adam is secretly in love with Blake. He sees Blake and Miranda at a party being very clingy and PDA. He can't handle it and kind of has a panic attack? Blake finds him and makes him better!" but then it went away from me and this happened.

The first time they meet is engraved in Adam’s mind like a scene from a movie he’s seen ten times too many.

He remembers every detail; remembers what Blake is wearing, remembers the enthusiastic way he turns to his manager to talk about Adam in hushed tones, remembers the exact shade of blue his eyes look under that particular synthetic light, remembers the first joke Blake utters in his presence and how his own laughter seems to come from some place deep within him that has just stirred awake and cracked like a new, mild but steady fire that sizzles every time Blake is near him.

His heart does this uncharacteristic, pleasing little flip-flop the first time Blake flirts with him. It happens rather quickly and Adam doesn’t know quite yet it’s nothing exclusive, doesn’t know it’s not only meant for him. He doesn’t know it’s Blake’s M.O. of interacting with someone attractive and new in his life. He doesn’t know Blake is engaged. He doesn’t know a thing about Blake except he’s a country singer and dresses and sounds like there’s no other thing he could ever be and makes Adam think that cowboys are definitely underrated.

He doesn’t know anything about Blake but he laughs and smiles at him, he teases and pulls Blake’s metaphorical pigtails every chance he gets just as Blake does the same to him and they exchange these _looks_ , these sometimes-long-sometimes-short looks across the two chairs between them, that make Adam duck his head to hide how very pleased and smitten he is, all the while smiling a coy, hopeful smile because he’s enough of an idiot to have this veil over his eyes and can’t for the life of him realize Blake flirts with pretty much everyone around until it’s way too late.

The veil is ripped from his eyes when he hears it—Blake is engaged. To be married. And his fiancée is this beautiful, talented country singer that undoubtedly has everything in common with him and more.

The way Blake looks at her makes Adam sick. He feels like something has been torn from his chest and stabbed and left to dry on the dirt, something important that makes it harder to breathe, harder to look into Blake’s eyes and smile from then on.

 _You don’t love me_ , Adam thinks and it takes a while to sink in, a while to grasp it because it feels so  _wrong_ he can’t believe it’s happening but who is he to know that for certain? He’s just a stupid guy who’s fallen in love with an even more stupid guy who isn’t helpful at all and keeps tempting, keeps fooling Adam into thinking his actions mean more than nothing, who sings his own song to him like he means every word and for all the world to see.

Adam gets home after team Blake performs This Love and closes his eyes, already in the dark in more than one sense, and wills his unwise heart to stop flapping because there’s nowhere to fly and the fall will hurt too much if he lets it soar.

_You don’t love me._

_And you won’t._

***

They get married.

It’s easy to remember Blake is joking every time he holds Adam after that.

It’s not easy to ignore the way his heart doesn’t break all in one go but does it little by little each time he sees Blake and Miranda kissing and snuggling against each other, each time he catches Blake’s big frame folding around her like she’s precious beyond measure, like touching her and kissing her is the best gift he could ever get.

It’s impossible to do it if they’re in the same room for too long so Adam makes up excuses and makes sure to never ever be around Blake for too long when his wife is there too.

People talk about it, of course they do. It’s funny really, because Adam doesn’t hate Miranda and he’s pretty sure Miranda doesn’t hate him either.

He’s pretty sure she pities him.

***

Sometimes he can’t avoid it.

He can’t plan for something he doesn’t know so when he arrives to Usher’s place and sees Blake gently kissing Miranda’s cheek while she sits on his lap he takes a deep, shuddering breath and leans against the closest wall so as not to fall on his face because his knees buckle, his heart quivering and threatening to give out. He shuts his eyes tight and swears, brushing off Shakira’s help and stumbling to the nearest empty room.

He paws his chest, knowing it won’t relieve the overwhelming pressure there but trying because there’s nothing else he can do, and breathes unevenly until he gets so dizzy he can’t even think.

It hurts so much it feels like he’s dying.

***

He’s still hyperventilating when Blake knocks on the door and comes right in without permission.

Adam chokes on a laugh because that’s the way Blake does everything—he saunters in uninvited even if it’s Adam heart where he’s going into only to tear it apart without knowing, without meaning to.

Blake shushes him and ignores his flailing hands when Adam tries to push him away.

He curls around him and holds Adam close to his chest. He nuzzles his hair and whispers reassuring things that mean nothing just like the gentle touching and petting do but Adam’s heart refuses to acknowledge that and holds onto those things anyway, holds onto Blake like he could go away any second because he _can_  but his presence is so soothing Adam gives in and lets it, lets it have what neither of them can while it lasts.

“Let me take you home,” Blake murmurs in his ear, fingertips coaxing Adam to rest the back of his head on his shoulder, “Gosh, Adam, you’re sick as a dog. You should be in bed, not in a party.  Are you stupid?“

Adam laughs under his barely regular, barely regained breath.

“Yeah,” he says, “Yeah. I am.”

He’s lovesick and stupid but next time he’ll find some convoluted way of asking whether Miranda is in town or not. He will.


	2. Chapter 2

Adam knows something is very wrong the minute Blake greets him with a smile and a pat on the shoulder instead of their customary bear hug and occasional kiss on the cheek.

He stares at Blake, feeling robbed of the few things that are his—even if they’re not  _only_  his. After years of pining, Adam has learned to share, has learned to make do with whatever he can get—but Blake plays dumb and turns around, turns to talk with Usher and his booming laugh cuts right through him.

He knows he’s just been rejected even though he hasn’t confessed a thing. He feels it in the air that shifts with this new arrange of things and everyone else does too. They joke about the legendary bromance dying, about how they need  _couple_ ’s therapy and Adam’s skin crawls.

They’re never going to be a couple and now they’re not even the close friends they used to be because his secret is out—not completely out, it looks like Blake doesn’t plan to spread the word and thank God for small mercies—and Blake is either appalled or trying to give Adam’s heart a chance to heal with some distance and time or both.

Blake doesn’t know that with every little brush of his fingers, with every little peck he denies Adam he’s drilling a hole in his soul and leaving the gap wide open so Adam can bleed out slowly but surely with no one to staunch it because so far that was Blake’s job and he doesn’t want it anymore.

***

Two weeks in which the space between them threatens to swallow Adam whole and he can’t take it anymore.

He corners Blake in his trailer and locks the door behind him, steeling himself for something that he knows will hurt and hoping he can take it because as much as pain has been a constant companion to him ever since he met Blake, they’re not quite friends yet. Adam likes his heart in one piece too much for that.

Blake looks unnerved instantly. He stops twiddling with his phone and stands up, tries to make it to the door with the help of his impressive height and the dumb act he refuses to drop.

“I have it under control,” Adam says, loving his voice when it doesn’t betray him and he sounds steady and confident, “You don’t have to do this, Blake.”

Blake winces and fidgets with his wedding ring, as if he could rub the fact he’s unavailable any more in Adam’s face that he’s already had.

“Look, Adam, we can’t—“  
“We can’t what?” Adam cuts in, chagrined, “We weren’t doing anything!”  
“It’s not right,” Blake says very quietly.

Adam jerks back so hard he almost pulls a muscle.

Blake’s fingers are still around his ring but unmoving, his eyes fixed on the floor, in the few steps between them that feel like miles of chilly and stormy seas separating them.

“You’re homophobic,” he states tonelessly, “We’ve had several gay contestants but you’re freaking out now because it’s about you.”

Blake’s eyes finally snap up and fix on him.

“I meant it’s not right for us! I didn’t mean I’m against two men being—damn it, Adam, I don’t want to hurt you, alright? You’re my friend and I love you, I do,” he drawls, somehow managing to be both sweet and cruel, “But I don’t—I don’t love you the same way you do.”  
“I know that,” Adam says, without missing a beat.

 _And you won’t_ , he doesn’t say. He knows that too, he’s known that for a long time but there’s something to say about the heartache being a thousand times worse with Blake’s honest blue eyes delivering the news.

Blake shakes his head, sad and repentant, and Adam almost freezes in terror.

Almost.

“I told you, I have it under control,” he presses, “I’ve never asked anything else from you and I won’t, I don’t even know how you found out that—“  
“I don’t want problems with Miranda,” Blake interrupts, “You know that she means the world to me.”

Wow. Maybe Miranda does hate him, Adam thinks.

“She told you. She’s making you do this.”

It’s not a question but Blake shakes his head again, frowns, and looks like he wants to punch Adam right in the face.

Adam almost tells him to go ahead. It’d hurt less than this, he’s sure.

He can’t even think anymore, refuses to believe Blake would willingly put distance between them because his heart won’t let him.

“Don’t you get her into this,” Blake spits out, “She hasn’t done nothing, I found out on my own and I’m handling this before it gets worse, now that there’s an easy—“  
“Easy!?” Adam practically shrieks, “This is  _wrong_ , how can this be easy for you!?”  
“You’re making it hard but it doesn’t have to be!” Blake yells back, “For Fuck’s sake, Adam, it’s only for a while so you can get over your—your—thing for me. Just a little while and then we can put this behind us and laugh about it.”

Adam presses the heel of his hands on his eyes but there’s no dam that can hold the tears at bay and he weeps quietly, tiny little gasps mixed with incredulous laughter making it out of his mouth as he wipes his cheeks and tries to get a fucking grip.

“Laugh about it, right,” he mutters, “I guess it’s funny, I mean, it’s ridiculous really. I know how you take your coffee in the mornings, I know how you like your eggs and all the greasy stuff that you love eating, I know a song that you’re going to like the minute I hear it because I can just feel it.”

“I know you like sleeping on the right side of the bed even though I’ve never even  _seen_  you but I  _know_ , I just do, because I always sleep on the left side and I laugh at your stupid jokes and smile when I see your stupid dimples and I know, I  _know_  that you’re happy with her, okay? I can see it, I have eyes. I would never jeopardize that, I would never ruin your happiness, but you don’t believe me so none of that  _matters_. And that’s funny, isn’t it?”

Blake makes a sound that would be a sob if it were a just little louder. He looks stricken and angry and sad and anything but the things Adam would want to see reflected on his face after confessing a part of his feelings.

His fingers reach out to him, hover over Adam’s face only to retreat quickly the next second, like even the air around Adam isn’t safe enough to touch.

“Adam, please, just let this go. It’s the best thing for both of us.”

He’s pleading now, he’s not trying to be reasonable anymore, and all the fight leaves Adam in a rush.

He closes his eyes, touches his chest absently, presses right on top of his heart to try and keep the pieces in one place, at least, because Blake doesn’t want him or the smallest bit of his love for him so he has to keep it in, keep it to himself.

“Okay.”

This is what Blake wants and he will give it to him.

He smiles—a sad, quivering little thing—and closes the door behind him.

Try as he might, he can’t make it past the stairs and sits down right outside, covers his face with his hands to both muffle his moans and stop anyone from seeing how fucking pathetic he is.

He almost expects Blake to come out for a second, to help him get to his trailer and comfort him for a bit even if it’s just with words but knows better.

When Blake doesn’t, he’s not surprised.

He’s just hurt, so hurt he can’t even move. 


	3. Chapter 3

Tapping is a nightmare for the following weeks.

Carson makes faces every now and then, especially when the tension seems so thick you could cut it with a butter knife, but says nothing about it. Adam knows that by now he would’ve taken him and Blake aside to talk if he didn’t know what’s going on and the fact that he knows—the fact that Blake told him who the fuck knows what exactly—makes it worse, somehow.

He decides he’s quitting, decides this is his last season on the show. He focuses on his team, pours every single smidgen of energy he has into them and hopes for the best, all the time very much aware that he’d quit right this second and never come back to the studio again if he could, because seeing Blake and realizing every single day that he can’t go to him, can’t even greet him like a normal person anymore, can’t look in his direction without making him uncomfortable, that’s killing him.

He’s never been this dramatic but he really wishes he could disappear, wishes he could drop off the face of the Earth and never come back.

It looks like that’s what Blake wants too and that hurts more than everything else.

A little part of him still  _hoped_ , still thought Blake would miss him and come back to him.

He was wrong.

Adam gets the impression they won’t even be able to be friends, after this.

It’s not like they are, not anymore, and Adam isn’t only mourning a love that will never be but a friendship he thought he could keep forever, could keep close to his heart like the best consolation prize for as long as he lived.

He was wrong.

***

He still doesn’t know how Blake found out about these inconvenient, mind-crippling feelings he has for him.

It makes him paranoid, makes him feel like he’s an open book with a sob story to tell that’s not even worth the pause for reading it properly, that’s just good for skimming through and putting back down because the ending sucks and the beginning makes no sense and there’s nothing in the middle but misery.

***

He comes across Blake on accident.

It’s late, rehearsals have been over for at least an hour, and the staff is busy setting everything for tomorrow and shooing everyone from the studio.

Still, Blake is sitting there, his head hanging heavily from his shoulders, the weight almost too much for his shaky hands.

It cuts Adam’s breath in half. He can’t help but linger at the door, itching to get closer and comfort him but aware he’s not welcomed.

He’s turning on his heels, ready to go and fetch Carson or Usher when he hears it.

“I know you’re there,” Blake says and it’s quiet and rough, like he’s been crying himself hoarse. Adam can tell, after long nights of doing the same.  
Adam flinches. “Sorry. I was just—“  
“Don’t be,” Blake says, hands dropping from his face at last. He looks at Adam with fever-bright eyes, with eyes that are screaming something at Adam that he can’t get, “Stay.”

He does, of course, if he were a machine he wouldn’t even be programmed to ignore Blake’s commands and he’s not a machine but his heart is attuned with Blake’s wishes in ways that shake him to the marrow, in ways he can’t change or stop.

Still, he has his pride and that’s the only thing delaying he crumbles to the floor in pieces so he tries to stick with it.

“I shouldn’t,” he says and his fucking voice should be flat but isn’t, it’s aching and raw and hopeful in spite of it all.

He turns to leave. It’s a joke, really, he has no strength to leave Blake like this, not when he’s been given green light to stay with him but Blake doesn’t know that and he stands up and is terrifyingly fast on his feet to close the door and keep Adam inside with him.

“Adam, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he whispers, repeats it against Adam’s shoulder in a muffled breath that is hardly articulate because he has the audacity to hug him after ditching him like jeans that were once comfy and familiar but turned taut and unbearable.

Adam lets him because forgiving is easy but forgetting is not.

He clings to him and Adam has the ridiculous thought of being the one who’s holding them both upright, with Blake’s fingers digging into his back as if he wanted to crawl into Adam’s skin and stay there forever.

When Blake tells him he missed him, he believes him.

He smiles.

***

“Are you still—“  
“Yes,” Adam sighs. Explaining one-sided love to Blake is like trying to teach math to a dog that can learn the numbers but won’t know what they mean, “I don’t have a switch I can push to turn it off, you know, and you’re too—“ nice, charming, generous, kind, gorgeous, perfect for me, “ _you_ , too much of an asshole for me to forget you. Where could I ever find someone worse than you?”

Blake chuckles. He thinks it’s a joke, the idiot.

Adam lets him believe that. He likes him calm and tender, without guilt pressing down on him, likes him close and content so he lets him.

“I’m glad we can be friends.”  
“Me too.”

So Adam stays on the show, stays by Blake’s side.

***

“I told Miranda about us,” Blake says, the words rumbling under Adam’s ear where he’s resting on the country singer’s chest.  
“There’s no  _us_ , Blake,” he replies.

It almost doesn’t hurt to admit it, being with Blake like this.

They’re alone in a hill, enjoying a quiet spring night in LA, lying down on Blake’s truck and Adam takes comfort in it all; in the familiarity of the air and the stars, in Blake’s warmth and his arms around him.

If Blake loved him, this would be romantic.

He doesn’t and it should hurt and Adam thinks it does but he’s too far gone to care anymore.

It’s a good kind of pain, he thinks, a sweet one this time and that’s a good change.

“You know what I mean,” Blake huffs, “I was cranky, she asked, I told her about what happened.”  
Adam hums, tucks his head closer under Blake’s chin, asks, “And what did she say?”  
“She said she trusts me,” Blake says, his voice filled with pride and adoration. Adam’s breath stutters but he doesn’t notice, keeps talking like doing it isn’t piercing Adam right through the heart, “She said to come to you if I wanted to and I did.”  
“And here you are,” Adam states, shutting his eyes tight as his heart shouts at him to take advantage of this, to take Blake now that he’s vulnerable, now that it’s clear he knows he needs Adam in his life.  
“I’m so damn lucky,” Blake breathes, marveled, and he’s kissing Adam’s head but he’s talking about  _her_ and Adam wants to punch him and kiss him but can’t, won’t.

He touches Blake’s side under his denim jacket, pretends he’s trying to warm his fingers when he’s just trying to hold onto to what he has, to what Blake is offering.

There’s no love story to tell and there won’t be but this is enough. It will have to be.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turning the bittersweet ending into something... well, sweeter, I guess. I can't leave things well alone, obviously.
> 
> Also in response to this prompt: "More protective Blake over Adam where Adam breaks down and cries? Maybe because of stress of something?"

Blake is locking the door of his trailer when he hears it, so faint and brief that if the wind had blown just a bit harder he would’ve dismissed it as a crisp breeze, as a stray dog somewhere down the street.

He walks to the door next to his—to Adam’s trailer where all the lights are out and where it shouldn’t be a soul left at this hour. He pads carefully, ears straining to pick another sob if they’re able, if there’s another to listen, to pay heed to.

He presses the side of his head to the door and it’s only a couple of seconds before the cry he first heard is duplicated, a little louder now that he’s nearer but muffled and pained, as if abashed of its own existence.

His own breath hitches, his pulse as faltering as his mind is about what path to take now.

He can’t leave Adam alone. It breaks his heart just to listen to him like this. But it’s obvious he doesn’t want comfort except the one offered by the dark and solitude around him and who is Blake to take that decision for him, to pretend he knows what Adam wants better than he does?

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, fingers hovering over the touchscreen keyboard, pleads the right words are the ones he sends to Adam in the least obtrusive way he can think of.

_I can stay. Let me know._

He feels silly for all of two seconds, thinking Adam will obviously miss the text since he’s busy crying for a reason that Blake would fight tooth and nail to fix if he could, if he had the chance to. Then the door opens a crack and he takes it as the answer that it is; his feet moving faster than his thoughts, taking him inside where he’s both needed and wanted.

The tears on Adam’s eyes and cheeks catch the dim lights coming from outside in a way that it’s hypnotizing in its rawness; in the complete openness of his sorrow trickling down his face, in the haunted glint of his hazel-green eyes, but Blake doesn’t stare.

His arms bring Adam closer, cradling him in his bigger body, slowly and very gently, asking if it’s okay, if this is what Adam wants, with every inch they breach in the same manner.

Once shielded by him, Adam’s sobs don’t get louder but something crumbles in him all the same, a full body shudder making Blake’s arm tighten instinctively around him. He wants to offer all the world’s sweet nothings and reassurances but the silence chokes him, forces him to respect it and barely allows him to crane his neck to kiss the top of Adam’s head down to the shell of his ear that he nuzzles, shutting his own eyes against all this pain that he doesn’t even know the source of but it’s oppressive and disturbing enough for him not to need that to feel it.

He’s hugged Adam a thousand times but he’s never felt so small, so delicate and Blake knows with single-minded certainty that there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to get back the lively and unapologetic younger man he’s always been fond of.

He’s so cold Blake is tempted to let him go for the shortest of moments to put his jacket around his shoulders, to lend him his warmth in every way that he can. But something stops him, his gut telling him what’s important now is to not let Adam go and the rest can wait.

The only measures of time he has are Adam’s low gasps, his soul-shattering whimpers, and the increasing wetness of his shirt where Adam is trying to crawl into his chest to hide from what’s breaking him.

The fingers clutching his back are desperate and edgy, changing grip every moment to a new patch of his jacket, high and then low and and then middle ground, unable to settle.

Blake feels Adam’s heart beating in his chest like a bird trying to escape a cage about to crush him.

It blinds him; the pain that resonates through him, the worry.

He presses another kiss, this time to Adam’s temple, and swallows his questions because the least Adam needs right now is pressure. He won’t make him talk when he doesn’t want to, when he  _can’t_ , when Blake feels like he’s dying and it has to be only a fraction of what Adam is feeling right now.

He’s comforted loved ones many times but this is so different.

He feels it in his bones, how he’s the only thing holding Adam together, the one thing stopping him from drifting away from this Earth.

After being the one who’s caused him so much pain, it’s a confusing and humbling thought.

He finds his voice at last, his hand sneaking up to cradle the back of Adam’s head. His usually soft and sleek hair is sticky and plastered to his nape, his skin ice cold as if he’s in the middle of a nightmare he can’t wake up from.

“I’m here,” Blake says, hoping it’s right, hoping it’s enough, “I’ve got you, Adam.”

Maybe it’s too much.

The sound that Adam makes then splits his heart in two; a dagger that stays there and staunches the bleeding but does nothing to stop the pain, that increases it until Blake’s knees threaten to give out.

He shushes Adam desperately, showers one half of his face with frantic kisses.

Adam finally breaks apart a little, just enough to look up at him.

He smiles but it’s the saddest thing Blake’s ever seen in his life.

He traces Blake’s jaw with soft, feather-like fingertips and it feels like goodbye.

It terrifies him.

“You don’t,” Adam amends, his voice a strangled mess, “Good night, Blake.”

He pulls his hoodie on and leaves Blake standing alone in the dark.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started writing this I did it with the idea of people dying slowly when their soulmates rejected them. I didn't plan on writing that part, it was just something on my mind for the world building of this story but now for some reason I want to go there. Hence the new chapters.
> 
> Don't worry, no one will die.

Blake is pleased but confused when he runs into Michael in a meeting of a new season of The Voice.

“It’s good to see you, buddy,” he tells the crooner, “What are you doing here?”  
Michael grins at him. “Say hello to your new fellow coach.”  
Blake’s smile falls from his face. “What?”

Mark and Carson don’t even try to explain Adam’s absence. No one acknowledges it. Gwen is back for this season and the four of them should have no problem keeping the show afloat, they say.

Blake can’t remember a time when he was madder than this.

He frowns at the contract they put in front of him and refuses to sign.

“Blake, we need you,” Carson says, concerned, “We can’t pull this off without you and Adam. If you love the show, and I know you do, you have to stay.”  
“Oh, so now you’re mentioning him,” Blake spits out, “I thought y’all had forgotten about him already. It sure as Hell seemed that way.”

They offer him more money, of course they do. They even propose to let him call Adam as a mentor for his team so they can keep working together but Blake knows Adam better than any of them and he’s sure Adam won’t come back to be anything less than what he was, not even for him.

Blake wishes them good luck and leaves.

***

There’s a pit inside of his chest.

It’s bottomless or that’s the way it feels to him and there’s not a single thing he can do to fill it.

At first, he thinks it’s Miranda away on tour plus losing one of the things he loved the most—being a coach on The Voice and helping new artists to make their dreams come true—what’s messing with him.

But when he lies down, alone at night, the only thing he can hear are Adam’s sobs. They cut through him over and over, same as the first time he heard them, same as they did while he was holding Adam and fearing his friend would break the moment he let go.

At first, he thinks it’s just worry. He calls Adam every day to check on him. Sometimes Adam doesn’t pick up but he always texts him, reaches back to him somehow but both his voice and his words are stilted, as if he were holding a world of things back and hiding them from Blake.

They don’t talk about why Adam quit the show, mostly because every time Blake even hints about asking Adam flat-out hangs up on him or shuts up like a clam.

He wonders what could be worse than them talking about Adam’s feelings for him but doesn’t dare ask.

He keeps calling, hopes Adam will open up to him same as always sooner or later.

He catches rumors on the news about the lead man of Maroon 5 going in and out of a private clinic in L.A and knows Adam too well to believe for a second that he's in rehab.

The possibility of Adam being sick terrifies him but it would explain things. It’d explain everything.

Blake doesn’t sleep very well, these days, and if he does it’s always to the feel of a little body in his arms that isn’t there when he wakes up.

He sleeps little next to nothing once he realizes the thing he's feeling isn't worry, not only.

It's longing.

***

When Miranda is finally back, the pit has swallowed half of him and it’s working its way up.

Blake has never been particularly good at communication but he tries being honest with her. Things have been frail between them for some time and he’s learned by now that more trouble comes from keeping things to himself than speaking out.

He still waits for a little while, hopes kissing her and holding her in his arms will fix everything like it always has but days go by and he keeps feeling like he's not where he should be.

It's driving him mad and Miranda notices.

“Blake, I’m your wife,” she tells him one night and Blake knows it’s an ultimatum, “If something is wrong, I need to know. I want to know, so I can help you.”

He nods, straightening up in the bed. She turns on the lamp in the nightstand and Blake watches her hair glowing like a halo, licks his lips and scratches his bare chest absently.

“I want to go back to L.A.,” he admits, “Adam is—I don’t know what’s wrong with him but I need to be there with him. He doesn’t want to talk about it on the phone and I understand that. Who would? I should be there.”

Miranda sighs. She’s quiet for long minutes, her eyes boring into him.

She doesn’t understand. Blake doesn’t blame her.

When she makes him choose between ditching the carefully planned time together they had to go and be with Adam or staying and climbing the walls with this fear of losing Adam that just won’t go away, he only hesitates for a moment.

She kisses him on the lips one last time and puts her wedding ring in his palm, putting on her silk gown to get out of bed and out of his life.

“I would’ve gone with you,” she says and she doesn’t sound accusing, just sad, “I would’ve if you had picked me.”

Blake wants to resent her for this but can’t; she’s right. She should be his priority but she’s not and they would’ve never worked. She used to be his priority and it almost turned him into a wreck. It didn’t work.

***

Adam opens the door looking like he’s just out of bed. He’s thin and pale, wrapped in a thick blanket despite of the warm weather outside, hair sticking up in every direction.

It’s five in the afternoon and Blake’s worry spikes in his chest.

Adam smiles tiredly at Blake and it doesn’t reach his eyes. He turns around, using a hand to lean on the wall as he leads Blake through the hall on wobbly legs.

Blake stops him with a hand around his wrist and tugs him into a hug that makes both of their breaths catch.

“You’re here for the show?” Adam asks, cheek tucked against his shirt, his small arms holding Black’s back tentatively, as if he’s not sure he’s allowed to, “How’s that going? I miss you guys, I bet you’re having so much fun.”

Blake shakes his head even though Adam can’t see him. He leans on the wall beside him and pulls Adam so close he has no choice but to hold him as tight as Blake is holding him.

“I don’t know,” he replies softly, “I quit, same as you.”  
That has Adam stiffening. “What?”  
“I couldn’t do it without you,” Blake confesses, “I mean I could, but I didn’t want to.”

Adam breaks apart enough to look up at him and scowls.

“Don’t say that, asshole,” he complains, smacking Blake on the shoulder so feebly he barely feels it, “Don’t you listen to the shit that comes out of your mouth? That sounds—“  
“Like I give a crap? Like I care about you? That’s ‘cause I do, Adam,” Blake fills in, his drawl thick, “I do.”

Adam puts both hands on his chest and pushes. Blake takes the hint and lets him go, watches him stumble to the living room to slump on the couch.

His eyes aren’t so dim anymore but their wetness scares Blake.

“What are you trying to do, Blake?” Adam asks, voice wavering, “Because I’m trying to forget about you and you’re not making it easy. You never do.”  
“Adam—“  
“No, listen,” Adam stands up as if spurred and dabs a finger in Blake’s chest, “I can’t do this. I’m sick, okay? I can’t deal with this now. You can come back and be an obnoxiously good friend when I’m feeling better, not now.”  
Blake doesn’t move an inch. He's done worrying without having all the answers. “What’s it that you have again? I think I didn’t catch it the first few times you didn’t tell me about it.”  
“Fuck you,” Adam hisses, pushing him again and still not managing to drive him away, “No, you know what? I didn’t tell you and I’m not going to.”

Blake takes Adam’s hands in his, squeezing and refusing to take the bait so they can fight like Adam wants to.

Eventually, Adam stops struggling and sags against him.

“I don’t know,” Adam admits very, very quietly, “My body is shutting down. There’s no explanation, it’s just happening.”

Even without a name, what Adam has sounds terminal.

It’s exactly what Blake’s been seeing in his nightmares, what he’s been dreading; Adam sobbing until his body stills, Adam closing his eyes and not opening them again.

Blake murmurs reassurances under his breath, bending until he can touch Adam’s forehead with his and keeps talking, a litany of _no_ ’s and _you’re gonna be alright_ ’s that’s shallow and pointless but he can’t help but utter because if he’s quiet he can listen to the truth and he’s not ready for that.

He doesn’t think he’s ever going to be ready for it; to live in a world without Adam’s high and pure voice, without his childishness and his jokes, without his laughter and his teasing when Blake is purposefully silly, without his boldness and appeal that so many people seem to hate but that Blake can’t help but admire.

He wishes he was half as confident as Adam; if he were, he’d kiss him now and wait for everything else to fall into place around them.

If he were, he would know what to do.

Adam entwines their fingers, their joined hands held in the space between them. It takes him a while to notice the absence of Blake's ring but he’s quick to point it out.

“Dude, if you lost it, she’s gonna be pissed,” he comments, chin tilted down to inspect Blake’s finger as if he could stare hard enough at it and make the ring reappear, “What are you going to do?”

Blake looks at the lighter skin on his finger; at the brand that feels there but isn’t anymore.

He feels naked without it and it’s ridiculous. He let his marriage crash and burn saying the wrong words at the wrong time, feeling things he shouldn’t and choosing them over his vows.

It’s the second time he’s fallen for someone while he's already in a relationship but it’s the first time he’s fought against it with everything he had, that he's fought so hard it took him years to even acknowledge what's in his heart.

“I’m getting a divorce,” he says, tone too light.  
Adam snorts. “Yeah, right. Grovel, you mean, and buy another one.”

Blake tips Adam’s chin up. When their eyes meet, he doesn’t need to say anything for Adam’s eyes to widen in realization and a gasp to leave his mouth in a rush.

“It wasn’t working,” Blake explains and hopes they can leave it at that.

Adam doesn’t pry.

He does stop trying to brush Blake aside and lets him fuss over him; cooking dinner for the both of them that he ends up eating almost entirely and taking Adam upstairs after he falls asleep in Blake's lap halfway through their meal.

Blake doesn't have much time to figure out how to make this right. He doesn't even know if that's possible.

He just knows that he's going to try.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got long and I don't really like it but I give up.
> 
> I made a really [sappy fanmix](http://8tracks.com/allivegotleftismybones/baby-if-i-could-change-the-world) in case that's your thing. It doesn't quite fit this story but it's Shevine so I figured I'd let you know.

Sitting beside Adam, watching him sleep, it brings him peace.

Here, Blake feels like he’s finally able to breathe for the first time in weeks.

Adam would say it’s a little creepy—or rather, more than a little—but he hasn’t been awake in almost a whole day and no matter how tight Blake squeezes his hand, the younger man doesn’t stir.

Blake knows the clock is ticking, knows that there’s not a thing he can do to stop it.

He wants to wake Adam with a kiss and promise him everything is going to be alright but it’s not and he doesn’t have it in his heart to do that.

Whenever he’s awake these days, Adam is in pain.

Blake has been selfish for the most part of his life but now he won’t be. He wants to spend every second Adam has left with him, wants to watch him smile and hear him laugh like the old times, but this isn’t about him. It isn’t even about them anymore. Blake made sure of that.

He aches with the need to know, to ask _do you still love me?_ but he doesn’t deserve an answer. He doesn’t even have the right to ask. But he can wonder and long and _need_ ; he can suffer in silence. He’s had it coming.

He kneels by the bed, kisses Adam on the brow and wipes the sweat on his face with a wet cloth.

***

Going with Adam to the clinic is an eye opener.

It takes some convincing.

Even now, Adam is fiercely independent.

“I don’t need you there holding my hand,” he states, putting a sweater on top of a white T that almost swallows him whole, “Go back to bed and try to sleep those awful bags under your eyes away or something. I don’t know, dude. I’ll be back in a few hours, if you’re still—“

It’s extremely early but Blake’s brain kick-started the minute he heard the jiggling of keys and quiet feet trying to sneak out of the door.

“Adam,” he says, “I came here to stay and I’m coming with you, like it or not.”

Adam snorts. He doesn’t believe him. Blake can’t blame him for that. People tend to get defensive after you break their hearts and stomp all over the pieces, after all.

He spends the trip to the clinic finding the most hideous radio stations and pretending he likes the crap they’re playing only for Adam to cuss at him and change the station, practically giving him a dissertation about what is—and what isn’t—acceptable music to start the day.

Adam’s cheeks regain color, turning pink and healthy thanks to Blake’s little scheme. He wants to smile because the small victory feeds his hopes but can’t because it’s not enough.

It’s just too late.

***

Adam’s kidneys are failing.

He smiles and bats his pretty lashes at the nurses and gets a secluded room with comfy chairs and a big flat screen in which to spend the long hours of his treatment but he withdraws into himself the minute they finish hooking him to a hemodialysis machine and stares out the window through the whole thing, even when a nurse takes his vitals and promises to be back in half an hour to check on him again.

She warns Blake about a couple of common side effects that apparently Adam experiences every time he’s here but Blake still isn’t ready for it when Adam turns hastily to the side and vomits feebly in a trash can conveniently put there.

Blake feels sick to his stomach. Seeing the blood being pumped out of Adam’s arm while he’s curled on his side and gags every now and then is—it’s—he can’t describe it.

He’s never felt more helpless in his life.

He leans down, rubs Adam back delicately to bring him some empty comfort and gets him water so he can wash his mouth a bit but it doesn’t help, not really.

When Adam’s eyes flutter close and he goes unnaturally still, Blake freaks out.

He screams for a nurse, a doctor, someone that can do _something_ and they come in running and shove him to the side but don’t kick him out of the room.

Blake stands there, tottering on his feet.

The doctor takes him outside after exchanging a few low words with Adam when he recovers enough to sleep.

“He’s doing better,” the woman tells him, “After the close call we had last week, this is more than we expected.”

Blake barely gets to a plastic chair before collapsing, rubbing his face with both hands.

“He almost died?” he croaks.  
“I’m sorry, Mister Shelton, I assumed you knew,” she says softly, “He came here vomiting blood. Stopping the hemorrhage was difficult because his liver function is worsening but he was stabilized and released like he asked.”  
“Could that happen again?” Blake asks, throat working around a lump that just won’t go down no matter how much he swallows, “Shouldn’t he stay here just in case?”  
The doctor gives him a commiserative look. “In these cases, even though we could keep the patients alive longer if they stayed in healthcare, it’s more important to respect their wishes. Most just want to be at home with their loved ones.”

Blake knew, of course he did, but he still wasn’t ready for this.

“There’s—there’s nothing you can do?”  
“We don’t have a diagnosis,” she explains, contrite, “Our options are limited because of that and Mister Levine’s rapidly deteriorating state.”

Blake goes back inside and spends the next four hours googling Adam’s symptoms.

It’s not useful but it’s something to do.

They come back three times a week and Blake comes to expect the nausea and the low blood pressure but it doesn’t make it any easier.

***

He doesn’t feel like singing, not much, but he plays the guitar a lot for Adam.

Some days, the good days, the younger man sits in front of the piano in his bedroom and improvises soft, beautiful notes to accompany Blake’s strumming. If he’s in a really good mood, he grabs one of his guitars and they teach each other songs they love.

It’s cheering but not enough for Blake to forget what’s happening, to forget exactly how much time they’ve lost because of him and his stupidity.

“We should’ve done this before,” Adam comments, “It’s great, isn’t it?”

It’s light and innocent but it pierces Blake like a blade anyway.

Some days, the bad days, there aren’t any chords known to man that can make Adam feel better. He lies in his bed, giving Blake his back, and when he asks Blake to leave he’s rude and loud but the Country singer never listens.

He curls up behind Adam and holds him instead.

***

“Why isn’t your family here?” Blake asks one night. He’s put off the question as long as he could, “Your friends?”  
Adam shrugs and changes the channel on the TV again, snuggling closer to his side. “I don’t want them here.”  
Blake frowns, his arm tightening around Adam’s waist. “And you want me?”  
Adam laughs. It’s not a pretty sound. “No, but you’re a stubborn son of a bitch.”  
“Adam, they need to be here, they need to be with you and see you, they—“  
“I’ll see them later, what’s the big deal?”

Adam’s words hurt but not because of what could be the obvious reason. Blake knows better than to believe he wants him gone; he’s seen what loneliness does to the front man, heard how much he hates it more than enough times.

This is denial, plain and simple. Adam goes back and forth to it, seemingly aware of his condition and then acting as if he’s going to be fine eventually if he tries hard enough, as if he could beat this—whatever it is—that’s killing him.

Blake wants to believe that—wants to believe him, to join him in denial.

He kisses Adam’s hair, tries to focus on the movie Adam picked instead of the echo of the bad dreams plaguing him, and says nothing.

***

His nightmares haven’t left but they’re new, nastier now.

Blake’s mind replays the scene in which he rejected Adam in his trailer months ago except this time he’s not throwing words at him; he’s throwing knifes and each and every one of them stab Adam in vital parts.

His lungs go first, then his heart and then he’s dead but his corpse weeps and Blake wakes up gasping and sweating and terrified.

He looks so tired every morning Adam tries—more than once—to either shoo him or to take over the role of caretaker, not relenting until Blake actively works to convince him he’s alright.

“It’s just—this,” Blake explains very poorly, gesturing with empty hands as if that could sum up how his life would be without Adam.

Adam scowls at him.

He doesn’t understand.

***

“Why are you even here, man?” Adam asks, voice clogged, leaning down on the bathroom sink.

His nose is bleeding, hasn’t stopped bleeding for a while but he refuses to go to the hospital.

Blake is standing by the doorframe, making sure to stay near in case Adam collapses.

It’s been a couple of rough days. Adam has refused his help and he’s getting worse by the minute.

Blake doesn’t panic by sheer stubbornness.

“I told you, Adam—I want to be here,” he replies firmly, “I want to be with you.”

Adam sticks clean dressing deep in his nose and stumbles past him, out of the bathroom and back to rest in his bed.

His eyes are bloodshot, the white a little yellow. He looks drained but there’s more to it; he looks like he’s giving up and Blake hates that. He wants to shake some sense into him but is too afraid Adam might break if he does.

“What do you want me to say? Thanks?” Adam inquires wearily, looking pointedly to the left of where Blake is, “I needed you before and you bailed, Blake. You have no idea how much I needed you.”  
Blake’s breath hitches. He knows Adam is right, knows that he hurt him more than he’ll ever be able to tell. “I’m sorry, I really am but I’m not leaving now, Adam, not even if you punch me in the face.”  
“Yeah?” Adam says, doesn’t sound convinced at all, “You want to stay now? That’s fan-fucking-tastic but honestly? I don’t get you. There’s nothing for you here, just me.”

Adam doesn’t even acknowledge him when he sits down next to him. Blake rearranges them in the bed until Adam’s head is in his lap and he’s finally looking up at Blake with something other than apathy.

It’s surprise, maybe, and something else that looks too much like fear.

“Do you remember that day?” he asks, tucking a sweaty hair off of Adam’s forehead, “ The day we met?”

Adam nods, dazed. Blake smiles sadly and goes on.

“I shook your hand and felt like I was right where I needed to be. I thought it was the gig, y’know, didn’t realize—but then you weren’t there anymore and the feeling went away. And when I tried taking some distance from you to keep my marriage safe, I couldn’t take it. I needed you. I still do. I’m sure I’m always gonna need you, Adam.”  
“Blake,” Adam rasps, voice cracking, the gauze already stained deep red, “Don’t. Don’t do this. You—you have to go back to her. She’ll take you back, right? She loves you. And you—you love her too. She’ll make you happy.”  
“I don’t love her, Adam. I tried to make it work, thought it was what I wanted,” Blake drawls, “But you were dying and I could _feel_ it, I could feel it here in my gut and I had to come here with you. I had to.”

Adam sits up and clumsily reaches for some tissues. The blood has already tainted his t-shirt, dripping down his chin, and isn’t stopping.

“I can’t make you happy, Blake,” Adam babbles, choked, “I can’t, I could’ve before but now—“  
“You can,” Blake assures him, cupping Adam’s clammy cheeks with his palms, “You _can_ , Adam. I don’t care if we have a week left, a _day_ , I’m staying right here with you. I’m not letting go until you do.”

Adam makes a noise that sounds like sob but his eyes are dry. Blake fishes for his phone with a blind hand as Adam grips his arm and sags against his chest.

“I think,” Adam pants, “I think I’m gonna pass out.”

By the time the ambulance arrives, the bleeding has stopped but Blake can’t tell if that’s because Adam doesn’t have much blood left or because it’s simply over and it’s truly a good thing.

***

 _Please_ , Blake thinks, hunched down in an uncomfortable chair with his hands clasped together in a silent prayer that he can’t even word because he wants too much, wants things that he won’t have so he just implores; _Not yet._

It feels like it’s years, _ages_ until someone comes to grab his elbow and shake him out of it.

Blake can’t make sense of the words the nurse is uttering but it must be good because she’s smiling and his chest isn’t hurting so much anymore. He can breathe again.

“Can I see him?”  
“He’s resting,” she says, “But you may sit beside him. This way.”

***

The medical staff, quite familiar with Blake and Adam by now, provide a room with two beds and don’t ask Blake to leave for the night.

He thanks them, of course he does, but only when they come to check on Adam. He can’t make himself leave the room, can’t even let go of Adam’s hand.

He spends the first few hours simply looking at him, watching the transfusion bag drop slowly to replace the blood Adam lost.

His body is more relaxed than Blake has ever seen since he arrived. Adam looks like he’s sleeping, his expression smooth instead of pinched in discomfort like every other time he was here or back at his place in one of the bad days.

Blake doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep until he comes to a hand in his hair, his forehead pressed to Adam’s side.

“Heya, cowboy,” Adam greets, his voice soft but hoarse.  
Blake feels so overcome by relief it’s hard to make his tongue work but he manages. “Hey.”

He shakes the cobwebs off his head quickly and stands to pour him some water in a plastic cup. Adam snatches it from his hand before he can offer any real help and barely raises his head enough to sip gingerly, the IV in the back of his hand making it look almost small.

“You look like shit,” is the first thing out of Adam’s soothed throat.

Blake laughs. He has a smartass reply at the ready but surprises himself not wanting to use it, not this time.

Besides, he’d be lying if he said that Adam looked ugly. He never did, not even as a lifeless body in Blake’s dreams.

Adam tugs at his hand until Blake snaps out of that train of thought. “You okay, buddy? You’re in serious need of a nap, aren’t you?”

What Blake needs is to hold Adam close and feel his heart beating against his but he nods and sits up straight all the same, preparing to face-plant in the other bed for a few hours.

Adam doesn’t let him go far, scooting over to one corner of the small hospital bed and pulling him to lie in the vacated space. Blake curls up around him without expecting a formal invitation and gently nuzzles Adam’s nape, grateful.

He sleeps for what feels like a short while and wakes up with a sudden realization.

Adam hasn’t moved except to entwine their fingers around his middle.

“You don’t want them to go through this,” Blake whispers, amazed, “The waiting.”

Adam tenses slightly in his arms, turning his head to look at him in the eye.

“Would you ask your family to sit around and wait for you to die? I didn’t want you to do it either,” he sounds amazed too, almost awed, “But you refused to leave no matter how bad it got and sometimes… sometimes you look at me like you—like maybe you—“

In the warmth and comfort of Adam’s presence, it’s easy to feel brave enough to ask without words if Adam would still have him, if only for this little while they have before reality catches up with them.

Blake listens to Adam tripping over words for a few more seconds before tipping his chin up to meet him and kissing him chastely on the lips.

Adam’s lips don’t quite taste like honey; they’re sweeter without the cloying trace of it on the tongue, sweeter in a way that shouldn’t be possible and that warms and fills his heart like nothing ever has.

They can only kiss for a minute but when Adam leans back to get some air he’s smiling softly and his hand comes up to brush the stubble on Blake’s cheek, fingertips reverent as they touch him with an amount of adoration Blake has never even dreamed of  receiving.

Adam’s eyes remind him of the countryside just outside his window when he was a kid then; welcoming greens and warm yellows and inviting browns after it rained. If home were a color that would be it, he thinks.

Blake kisses his palm and smiles back, hopeful.

“You’re so stupid,” Adam says, frustrated but patient, pushing closer to Blake until their knees slot and there’s no room between them, “I want you to be happy, you dickhead, but you—you keep saying and acting like you just want to be here with me and I—“  
“That’s ‘cause I want to,” Blake cuts in, squeezing tight when Adam laces their fingers again, “That’s all I want, Adam.”

He almost thinks Adam is asleep when he hears it, quiet but joyful.

“Okay then.”

It’s not an affirmation of things being mended and alright between them.

It’s a second chance and Blake would be damned if he let it go to waste.

***

Adam leaves a hoard of confused physicians in the clinic when he’s discharged two days later.

His lab work has started to improve with no treatment. He’s not sleeping so much anymore and he seems to be able to easily forget about whatever lingering pain he has as long as Blake is tucked against his side.

***

Blake is ready to give up everything for him but Adam outright refuses to let him and smacks him in the head to get his point across.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he says when Blake casually tries taking his hand while they go out for groceries, “If you want to ruin your life, don’t count me in.”  
Blake frowns, persistent, and reaches out again. “But honey—“

_You’re worth it. Let me show you._

Adam shakes his head fondly and dodges, sticking his tongue out and turning their domestic trip to a full-blown bickering of what they’re having for dinner.

Once they’re safe in the confines of Adam’s house, he stretches to reach his lips and cards his fingers through Blake’s curls as they kiss.

“That you’re willing to do that it’s enough for me,” he assures against Blake’s mouth, cupping his face steadfastly, “I don’t want you to sacrifice things, baby, you got it? I just want you here with me.”

Blake feels dizzy, standing on the edge of the pit he managed to crawl half back out.

That was all it took; Adam pulled him the rest of the way to the surface.

***

Their first time feels like being born again.

A weight lifts from his chest and everything seems brighter, louder, clearer, sweeter—it’s more intoxicating than any drink Blake’s ever had and it’s strong enough for the intrinsic worry about his performance to disappear and leave nothing but excitement in its wake.

They don’t plan it—scheduled sex tends to suck the joy out of it—and it’s too big of a deal for them to speak of it in a serious manner.

Blake simply waits and accepts whatever Adam is in the mood of; he hasn’t made out with someone so much in probably his whole life and he’s not young, so that’s saying something. His hands are unashamed in their exploration of Adam’s perfect body but he never pushes, never demands.

It’s been a month when Adam makes his intentions known by gripping his belt and pulling him to his bedroom after kissing the living daylights out of Blake as soon as he comes through the door.

He pushes the Country singer to the bed and straddles his hips. Blake goes along, thumbs caressing the jut of Adam’s hipbones and looks up at him in awe; at the red, puffy mess of lips he left Adam with, at the pink and alluring flush of arousal on his cheeks, at the playful glint in his eyes, and at planes and planes of ink covering well-built muscles.

There’s not a curve in Adam’s body except for the swell span of his buttocks and it’s not what Blake is used to at all. There’s challenge in Adam’s eyes, as if he’s more than aware of it and is expecting Blake to run for the hills and never come back.

Proving Adam wrong has always been something Blake enjoys though and he devotes to it.

He sits up and kisses Adam, hands firm around his lean waist, and relishes the feeling of their naked skin pressed together.

He keeps Adam in his lap and learns how to grind against him just right, fingers dipping lower and lower until he’s gripping Adam’s ass to push him harder to his body and Adam is practically mewling into his mouth.

He learns to slick the way with pre-come and spit and when he’s certain he’s finally doing it right with Adam groaning and digging blunt fingers into his back hard enough to bruise, he lets go; he gets lost in the sensation of Adam’s lithe body rutting against him, in the firm grip his legs have around Blake’s hips, in the maddening friction that gets a hold of him for minutes and minutes until he spills between them all over Adam’s chest and Adam gasps surprised against his mouth and arches his back prettily as he lets go too while Blake peppers his neck with sloppy kisses.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Adam teases when they’re a little less breathless and jittery and they’ve cleaned the mess between them to lie in the mattress.  
Blake chuckles deep and low in his throat, a leg sneaking between Adam’s to press him closer against his body and kiss his sweaty forehead. “Says the guy who was moaning like a porn star over a handjob.”  
Adam swats at his side halfheartedly, his mouth wet against his collarbone. “Fuck you. You loved it.”

Blake makes sure to let him know just how much he loved it, sucking Adam’s bottom lip into his mouth as his palm curves over Adam’s bottom and fondles, greedy.

***

In every relationship he had in his life, he always felt like he was coming up short one way or another, like there was this thing he couldn’t fix that would always be inadequate no matter what he did.

Having Adam beneath him, fingers interlocked together and breaths mingling as he drives into him, makes him feel whole.

***

It’s not easy to balance the part of his old life that still stands with the new life he wants to build with Adam but he manages.

Miranda keeps the ranch back at Tishomingo. Blake buys a new house in the countryside a little under an hour driving distance from L.A. and Adam surprises him with two young, eager pups that will be perfect to hunt with as housewarming gift.

He smiles and giggles against Blake’s lips while the puppies wreak havoc in his living room. When they break apart just a little, he shows him a sheet of paper that has Blake’s eyes widening in astonishment.

“Completely healthy,” Adam proclaims.

Blake glances at the lab results and his knees threaten to give way with the force of his relief. He pulls Adam into a tight embrace before he can fall over and breathes deep, face buried in the crook of his partner’s neck.

Adam’s hands are soft and soothing on his back. Slowly, Blake’s heart resumes the calm rhythm it had, beating almost in sync with Adam’s.

“Don’t go all sappy on me, idiot,” he says, “I’m fine, you knew that already.”

And Blake might have but he thought it was the calm before the storm; a dream he was having that would turn reality into a never-ending nightmare the minute he woke up.

“Gosh, Adam,” he breathes out, “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”  
Adam kisses his temple, fingers carding through the hairs of his nape. “I’ll do my best.”

***

Another season of The Voice comes and goes with no pomp and no circumstance. People hardly talk about it and when they do it’s to complain it’s not what it used to be.

They watch it and miss their old jobs but spend the spare time their music careers leave with each other.

The offer to return to the show comes soon and neither of them is surprised.

“Maybe we could, y’know,” Blake murmurs, thumb stroking Adam’s knuckles as they watch a rerun of the finale, snuggled together on Blake’s couch, “One more season?”

Adam looks at him intently, leaning over to kiss him in that way that always leaves Blake reeling and lightheaded with bliss; soft but demanding, tender but sensual.

“You don’t need my permission,” Adam says, half-lidded eyes still fixed on him, “Stop making those puppy dog eyes at me, dipshit. You can do whatever the hell you want.”  
Blake shakes his head, fingertips caressing the soft fan of Adam’s eyelashes. “I moved here for you, not for the show, and I’m not coming back unless you are too. It’d be damn boring without you there.”  
“Oh, really?” Adam smirks, “You want me to beat you again that bad, Shelton?”  
“Careful, rock star,” Blake grumbles, hands dropping to Adam’s hips to scoop him up to his lap, “Remember exactly who’s beaten your skinny ass the most? Oh yeah, me!”  
Adam looks daggers at him. “Shut up. You’re a lucky son of a bitch.”

Blake kisses the frown off of Adam’s face and wholeheartedly agrees.

***

They sign again and the producers are so happy they organize a homecoming party for all the coaches and staff.

Blake watches Adam most of the night, wishing they could dance to a slow song together and promising to himself they will once they’re back home.

“Please, Blake,” Christina says when most people have left and it’s only the coaches and Carson, rolling her eyes, “Do us all a favor and go dance with him. You guys making goo-goo eyes at each other has only got worse with time and I don’t think I can stand it anymore.”  
“Yeah, man,” Usher agrees, patting him on the arm, “We’re family. We’ll keep your secret.”

Blake blinks, stunned, and wonders how they all seem so convinced of the relationship they’ve been so painfully careful to keep under the radar.

He trusts them, of course he does, and he doesn’t need more to give in and put his arm around Adam’s waist.

Adam lets him lead and blushes at the whooping and clapping around them but keeps his smile and eyes trained on him, arms around Blake’s neck.

He looks the happiest Blake’s ever seen him and it’s fitting.

He feels the same.


End file.
